New York Morning
by Crystalline Green
Summary: The sun is yet to rise and bring true colour to the morning. Instead dim predawn light filters through the tall windows of the loft washing everything into muted grey flatness. But one inhabitant is restlessly awake – although she is not entirely alone in this regard - and has been for quite some time.


_**New York Morning**_

' _The way the day begins, decides the shade of everything...'_

* * *

The sun is yet to rise and bring true colour to the morning. Instead dim predawn light filters through the tall windows of the loft washing everything into muted grey flatness. But one inhabitant is restlessly awake – although she is not entirely alone in this regard - and has been for quite some time.

Often they don't bother closing the blinds, allowing the morning light free passage into their room. They were drawn last night and had been for several weeks, with the intention of encouraging a longer period of sleep, but there's no chance of that this morning.

She opens just one of the shutters shortly after getting up, padding to the window and tilting the slats. She roams around the room restlessly for a while, then wanders into the en-suite, to take care of the necessaries, but then figures that the best use of her time and energy for the moment would be to also take a shower.

She is in no mood to rush, so takes her time; allowing the heat and pressure of the water to relax her muscles as she turns to encourage it to beat against her back for long, luxurious minutes. She selects the largest most fluffy towel, ensconcing her form completely in its folds, while she dries her hair with a second smaller towel, before dressing lightly in a ratty tank top and a pair of stolen boxers.

On exiting, she is a little surprised to find her bed mate has remained undisturbed despite her absence and it still sleeping soundly. She makes the decision to let him rest, today will be long and grueling for them both, better to let him get what sleep he can now. And so as silently as possible, which isn't as simple as it once was, she stiffly makes her way out of the bedroom and through the office towards the kitchen. She pauses to snag a bottle of water and a banana then slowly begins the arduous task of making her way upstairs. She slowly hauls herself up, relying heavily on the banister - which she never lets go of - instead she slides her free hand along for support and leverage, using it for each step she takes as she climbs.

By the time she gets to the top she finds she is ridiculously short of breath.

Beckett crosses the room that once belonged to Martha, approaching the window. She finds that even in the few minutes since she left the bedroom, the sky has lightened considerably. High above the city, wispy cirrus clouds have colored, becoming fittingly cotton candy-pink, while low to the east a warm golden tint is burgeoning, offering the promise of another hot day. She checks her watch, 5.32am, still a few minutes until sunrise.

Outside is an oasis; green and calm, created by them during recent months. Building then cultivating the space out on the balcony became therapeutic for them both, bringing a little of the wilderness, which they'd chosen to recover in, home with them. Creating lusciously planted retreat beyond the glass, filled with vibrant colours and scents, accessible to them at any time. It has become sheltered by trellis screens fitted to a pergola frame, now generously adorned by creeping clematis and passion flower vines, flourishing in bloom.

It still feels a little strange to be here again, the loft has changed so much, it's almost unrecognizable from the home it was before. A fact that strikes her with both a sense of melancholy and relief. Such a lot happened here; their first time together on that fateful night when she came to him drenched, with rain still beating against the windows and frequent rumbles of thunder providing percussion to their union. It was their first home, where she learned how to truly allow herself to love and be loved, only to very nearly lose it again. They'd come much too close.

She still shudders when she finds herself in _that_ spot, where she'd dragged herself to his side, both of them bleeding out onto the floor. Luck had a massive part to play in their survival. Firstly Brown - a man unused to doing his own dirty work - wasn't a great shot and his impatience to get to them, to finish the job he'd expected to be completed for him, had meant that his plan was poorly thought out. They were very fortunate that he wasn't a practiced marksman and lucky that he hadn't taken time to think through his actions; instead he went about the task with arrogance and a cavalier attitude, which combined to become his downfall. Still without such a quick response the injuries they'd each sustained could well have still proved fatal. They had the building staff and the speed of their response to thank for that, then after, the actions of the paramedics and hospital staff treating them.

They'd all but abandoned the loft after, even once their respective hospital stays were over, hers being much longer than his, but he hardly ever left her side. Recuperation time had been divided, initially Kate had once again craved the fresh air and isolation of her father's cabin. Castle agreed with no qualms, as this time they would be healing together. Later, as their recovery progressed and each of them growing stronger, more able to cope - both physically and emotionally - they moved to the more populated Hamptons.

They only returned home to the City full time four months ago – ten months having passed since Locksat had been put down for good – when the pull of home grew steadily stronger, the desire soon becoming a veritable need, cemented by the practical advantages of being back in the city. By then the renovations had been planned, agreed with their chosen contractors who had completed the work that had been asked of them. Although there was still plenty of left for them to do, with finessing and applying the finishing touches. Kate especially wanted the opportunity to put their personal stamp on their home once again, she felt it was an important step in reclaiming it.

This place has become her most cherished space. She unlocks the mechanism of the window and the entire panel of the massive window slides back effortlessly on its track. The window becoming a door and the balcony beyond seamlessly becomes part of the room.

As she steps out, she finds a fresh cool breeze blowing in from the southeast, for now at least countering the stored heat of the concrete sprawl. Instantly bringing most welcome relief, lifting the sweat from her exposed skin. She twists her still damp hair up and away from her neck, seeking and encouraging the airflow around her overheated body. She'd had her hair trimmed again, but the summer heat had her wondering if she should have been bold enough to go shorter still, though perhaps not quite as short as it had been when she and Castle had first met.

Before, the balcony had been a space that had been criminally under used, but she always liked it out here and would often sneak out when she simply couldn't sleep; a regular occurrence for her over the years. Now with the work they've done and the new door installed, it's a much more usable and inviting area, somehow it seems capable of screening out the omnipresent noisescape of the city, even though she knows it's more a frame of mind, it affords her a sense of peace which has a calming effect on her.

Nestled beneath the pergola, is a spectacularly comfortable rattan suite, surrounded by planters in summer bloom, but she ignores it now. She paces slowly, keeping up what she hopes is a leisurely amble, all the while looking out beyond the wall, at the view of her slice of the city, enjoying the relative quiet that the morning brings.

She recalls a story she'd read in the New York Times about sightings of a Bald Eagle in Central Park, the article went on to explain that there was an increasing population of the majestic birds within New York City, indeed there had been a pair nesting on Staten Island. She wonders if they're out there now and in this moment, she identifies with them as she feels like an Eagle in her nest; high above the city, aware of the continual activity all around her, but sheltered from it by virtue of her lofty position.

As much as she's enjoying the peace and solitude, she also feels just the slightest bit of guilt creeping in over her selfishness, for being here alone. She feels the moment is nearing when she will have to wake Rick, to share this with him, but for now she is content to let him sleep and comfortable with her decision to allow herself this time.

The sun crests the buildings at last and she feels the first genuine heat of the day radiating on her skin. She stops briefly to luxuriate in the sensation, her eyes sliding shut as she enjoys the contrast between this and the continual gentle stirring of the still cool air. But soon she once again feels compelled to walk and so she does. Meandering from one extreme of the balcony to the other.

A rising tide from deep within causes her to pause her pacing. She makes her way to the railing atop the wall and grips hold. The brushed steel gleams in those first rays of sun, but is still pleasantly cold in the palms of her hands. She detects a vibration, sensed most noticeably through direct contact with the metal, but it's also there in her arms, and now she's become aware of it, she senses it coursing through entire being. It's a thrum of energy, a current which she knows not the product of any atmospheric condition affecting the metal, rather it is being generated and is flowing forth from within. Leaning in she ducks her head and bends a little with her arms out stretched before her, so she might have resembled a boomerang, if not for her added volume up front. Discomfort ripples through her, akin to a muscle spasm but one with a surging pattern that starts in her back then traverses until it becomes a tightening ring around her middle.

She has been learning that it is one thing to understand the theory behind what's happening - she does, in detail; much research has been conducted, knowledge acquired, collated and shared - and another to actually deal with it adequately. There exists the temptation to tense and fight it, a reaction that might be her natural instinct, but she knows and has already experienced what such a response brings to the equation. It's why she has come out here, to find a space where she can relax, be focused or distracted, whichever state is most advantageous as the moment calls for it and therefore hopes to avoid such an occurrence happening again. Now Kate wills the muscles she can control to relax, while allowing those she can't to do the job they have been and are still, preparing for.

She draws a deep breath in through her nose and rather than attempting to fill her lungs to capacity, she keeps everything comfortable, this one is a freebie. On her exhalation however she breathes through her mouth and focuses on controlling the length and depth, conscious of remaining relaxed even as she pushes out every last cubic inch of air. After a brief pause it feels like she's on auto inflate, her lungs ballooning effortlessly. It's a technique she was taught in her first stint in physical rehab, and it has served her well ever since for relaxation and pain management. She feels it working for her again now, though she's pleased that for once it is serving a far more constructive process.

* * *

When Kate had first come to suspect of her pregnancy, her first thought had not been unreserved joy, as she later wished it was and felt ashamed for it not being. Instead she had been consumed with worry bordering on dread. Not of the prospect itself, never that, but it was an issue of timing, though not as a result of worry over safety at work or implications for her career. This time the only concern for Kate was the likelihood of her body being able to sustain a life other than her own, so soon after such major trauma.

Doubt stole in immediately, along with the realization that it was indeed a possibility. That the reason her recovery had seemed to stall if not regress - with reassertion of debilitating tiredness and a mild but persistent sensation of nausea - may not be down to an existing condition, but a wholly new and different one.

'What if's began swarming in her mind, buzzing and incessant. What if something went wrong, what if her damaged body couldn't bring a baby to term, what if it could, but not adequately and she caused her baby harm? It was the kind of worrying that brought out the worst side of herself, reawakening demons that whispered to her alone, that gave her a sense of horrible isolation and worked to enforce it. She felt it dragging her into a state of temporary detachment. She worried alone that first evening and into the second day, even once she'd accepted the need to confirm or disprove her suspicions. She bought the test, the item burning in her palm on the way through the drugstore to the cash register. Thereafter she was aware of its presence as it sat menacingly, untouched in her bag. She spent the remainder of the day feeling intimidated, too afraid to take it.

Since the evening before she knew Castle had sensed that something was wrong, but she knew he would give her at least a little time to acquiesce before he would push to be let in. She didn't want to stray back to being that person again, but she simply didn't have the words or the energy to talk this through, at least not until she knew.

She asked him out for a walk along the coast. He agreed, probably hoping she would come clean, but she remained quiet, using the time to think and mentally prepare while the act of walking across the shifting dry sands released some of the tension built up within her muscles. She made sure to stay close to him however, seeking out the comfort of his generous hand, interlacing their fingers and tucking herself into his side as they strolled through the turbulent late autumn air.

Before dinner she murmured that she could to with a shower and excused herself with a gentle kiss, hoping that it went some small way to appeasing him. She snagged her bag and retreated to their bedroom, and beyond it the bathroom.

She settled herself on the toilet seat and extracted the test. She read the relevant instructions, and before she could convince herself into delaying any longer, she took and recapped it. She flushed and left it on the counter, then busied herself with the promised shower hoping that it would aid the passing of time and would help her endure less worry than if she spent the wait pacing. By the time she shut off the water she was confident that the results would be in, but she loitered a little longer wrapping herself in a luxuriously large bath sheet and toweling her hair partially dry.

'Come on,' she reprimanded herself, 'just get on with it.' She whirled and snatched the stick from its resting place to confront her fate.

Liquid cold unspooled from her belly, unfurling down and into her legs, weakening them. She plopped down on the toilet seat once more as the weight of the truth and all its potential connotations settled upon her, while hot, fearful tears spilled silently down her cheeks.

Eventually she dragged herself upright, reminding herself that this would never be her burden alone. A fact that was proven when she flung the door open and found him waiting for her by their bed. She threw herself at him and clung on with every ounce of strength she could summon and from that moment on, the icy sense of dread gradually began to thaw.

She was crying again, though this time tempered with a delicate ember of hope, when the words, "I'm pregnant," tumbled from her lips.

He hugged her tightly, with such reassurance and love that the grip of her anxiety eased further. "Hey," he whispered pulling back gently, cupping her face. "We'll be ok Kate. We'll do everything we can to make sure you're healthy, you already have been." She nodded numbly, wanting so desperately to believe it she buried herself against his chest again.

"Call your doctor first thing in the morning. We need a professional perspective, then we can move forward. But let's be positive Kate." He held her for a long time, then persuaded her to eat something before exhausted they went to bed.

His positivity was rewarded, when her OB agreed to see her mere hours after she'd called, squeezing her in as a priority case, giving them just enough time to drive back to the city. His confidence was rewarded as her doctor concluded her preliminary examination.

"Everything looks good Kate," she informed them. "We'll rush your bloods, and get the results to you this afternoon. But even without seeing them, I'm optimistic. Your body is regaining its equilibrium, if it's in condition to allow conception to occur, then it's more than likely capable of sustaining the fetus throughout your pregnancy. Of course there are never any guarantees, but I'd say that the trauma you experienced shouldn't have any lasting effect on your ability to carry this baby to term."

Kate accepted her words with caution but even then, she felt the fragility of the situation. Perhaps she always would have whatever her circumstances or whenever this event had arisen.

"Now, I want to see you back here in a few weeks, we'll decide when depending on the results and the estimated date of conception." Throughout her recovery Kate's cycle had been unpredictable at best, resultantly, she really had very little idea of when that event might have occurred.

"I'll call you myself, and we'll discuss it further then."

* * *

Since then she's grown in confidence, taking comfort in knowing that her baby has grown both big and strong - those two words have formed into something of a mantra even though the thought of birthing a big baby is somewhat of a daunting idea – a fact that has been confirmed at each of their scans, and by the vigorous movement she's been feeling for months.

Even within the confines of severely restricted room to move, the activity is still present now. "I'll make you a deal buddy, you look after me through this and I'll look after you." Kate tenders, to which the offspring responds by stretching out a limb, the protrusion clear the drum taught skin of her distended abdomen. Judging by the position, she believes it's a foot. Kate matches her own palm to the spot, patting lightly. "High five baby, unconventional, but it still counts. We have a deal."

She moves off again, continuing her tour of the small space she retrieves her banana and her drink from the table and eats her snack and washes it down with most of the water while still on the move.

Then she senses his approach before she catches sight of him, standing casually against the doorway. Kate takes a moment to appreciate how good he looks in the warm sunlight, his skin bronzed from time spent outside and he's lost a considerable amount of weight, but it's not the weight loss of someone who's sick, not any more, he's trim and through rehab and increased physical activity has regained a certain vitality that makes him look younger.

She is also pleased to find no signs of alarm within his posture. Indeed he seems to be observing her with an amused smile lifting his lips.

"Morning Duke. Hoss keeping you up?" he drawls, using the nicknames he bestowed upon her – them – when she'd carelessly complained about her altered gate late on in her pregnancy.

* * *

"Morning," Alexis greeted having arrived for one of her regular and increasingly frequent visits. That day they were supposed to be going out, nothing special, just for a walk in the park. "Wow, look at you!" she had commented, with awe, not unkindly. "You look like could go any day now Kate," she'd said as Beckett flat out waddled from the kitchen to meet her.

"I feel like John Wayne," Kate grumbled in frustration, welcoming Alexis with a hug, already realizing she's made an error in saying that out loud.

"Castle, don't you go there," she warned, but she could see it was already far too late.

He was already regarding her with his delighted, gleefully smug faced grin. "Well, slap some bacon on a biscuit and let's go! We're burning daylight," he rasped.

The eyes rolled. "Oh Castle, why'd you have to mention bacon!?"

"Want some?" he teased, his blue eyes still glinting.

"Yes!" she groaned.

"Well then _Duke_ , what would you say to breakfast for lunch at Remy's? If you're feeling up to it that is…"

She stepped up to him and jabbed a finger in his chest. "I wouldn't make it a habit calling me that," she retorted sternly, giving an impersonation her best shot. But then she brightened. "But Mister, you might have just bought yourself out of a jam, bacon sounds great," she conceded and turned for the door.

Castle winked at his daughter, whom knew he was not going to give this up yet, but she felt for Kate, having to put up with his teasing on top of everything else.

He caught up to Beckett as she pulled the door open, crowding in close behind her. "You know it's sunny out, perhaps you should wear a hat. Did I tell you how much I love the way you wear a Stetson?"

Kate didn't pause, she just breezed through the door. "Not happening Castle," she called from the hallway.

* * *

Kate laughs now at the frustration she'd felt that day - and that had been three weeks ago, there'd been a lot more cowboy walking since then. She knows she's doing it now more exaggeratedly than ever, as she makes her way to him even as he steps out to join her.

"Yes, bub's active," she says framing the bump. "But we're enjoying the sunrise."

She runs her hand over the super soft fabric of his 'Stark Industries' t-shirt, she knows it's fresh from the wash, she'd laundered it just yesterday, he'd probably just pulled the top one off the pile. She grabs a handful jealously and uses it to reel him in, tugging him until she can comfortably claim a morning kiss. She releases his lips, but not his shirt. "This was the one I was intent on stealing today," she reveals, her fingers lingering possessively a moment longer.

"Want to trade? I'm sure the neighbors wouldn't mind getting a sneaky peek of your boobs." He says lifting the hem of his shirt, seconds away from pulling it over his head.

She laughs and looks down at to assess her own attire, the battered top has reached its default position; even fully stretched, it rides up to expose a swathe of rotund flesh, but she loves it, even though it has been unable to cope with her tummy for weeks. Now it's also straining over the added volume of her chest. "They are pretty spectacular aren't they?" she assesses teasingly.

She feels another contraction rising. "Well, you're going to have to share them pretty soon, but not with the Singh's." The wave is imminent now, she closes her eyes against it. But locates his hands on her shoulders and guides them to the sides of the tightening mound of her bump. She needs to see his face, so fights against the desire to focus inwardly and discovers that his eyes are directed to where she'd placed his palms, a frown of concentration gently marring his brow.

The support his presence lends gives her confidence, her lids slip shut again while the contraction builds to its peak and for now she concentrates on breathing through the discomfort, finding the space where time doesn't matter, where everything with a controlling influence _outside_ is secondary to what she feels within. Kate lingers, just feeling, being, until the wave crests, then eventually recedes and her need to be there slips. She releases one last cleansing breath and opens her eyes once more.

Castle's attention has lifted, the frown is gone as is the puzzlement. His clear blue gaze is fixed on her still slightly pain drunken hazel browns. "That was a contraction," he murmurs quietly.

"Yes it was," she agrees.

"A real one?"

"I think so," Kate admits.

"How long?"

"Maybe since late last night, depends on where back pain ends and early labour begins." There was a warning look, 'Beckett, be straight with me' it said. She was. "Four hours, give or take - for sure - I think. I got some sleep early on, a couple of broken hours, but then I felt like I had to move. It helps."

"Good, that's good." He murmurs, seemingly working to keep himself calm, reigning in his breathing as his adrenalin levels spike. "Has your water broken yet?"

She shakes her head. "No, but I figured being out here would be the best place to wait it out, less cleaning required," she offers, biting back a comment about there already having been enough spillages of bodily fluids in their home. There are times when 'cop humor' dies hard even though it would not at all be helpful, nor appreciated.

"Do you want to go to the hospital?" he asks. And she's grateful for him being willing to allow her to maintain control over this situation, to follow her wishes so long as he feels she is comfortable and coping well; although she knows and expects that should the time come when he needs to, he will gently persuade her to reconsider her options.

"Not yet, it seems pretty consistent, they're still pretty short, about eight minutes apart and there's no real pain. I don't want to go too soon, I'd rather be comfortable here, with you." She steps in as close as possible, thanks him with a deep kiss, then turns so she becomes enveloped by his body while his arms encircle her and roam her belly. Despite all the injuries they've sustained and the changes to her body, they're still a perfect fit. She's struck by the profound thought that this is one of a few very finite moments remaining where this will still be possible. She intertwines her fingers with his and even though she longs to meet their child, she finds herself tearing up.

But then she thinks of bringing the baby home. The pregnancy and preparing for their child has played an enormous part in their healing, it has brought them home. This event feels like it's bringing that chapter to a close. It's time to turn a new page and begin the next part of their adventure. "You think we'll be back home this evening?" she sniffs. "All three of us?"

He squeezes her gently, reassuringly. "I hope so Kate, I hope so."

* * *

' _...But the way it ends depends on if you're home'  
_ – _From 'New York Morning' by Elbow_


End file.
